Leena  A Chryed Story
by s'cfanin
Summary: With no Amira being pregnant/coming back, no Yusuf meddling in things and no Ben lurking behind the corner, Syed and Christian continue their dream of becoming parents; adopt a little girl named Leena and try to cope with the new situation. please review!
1. Chapter 1

_Summary: With no princess Amira being pregnant/coming back, no evil doctor Yusuf meddling in things and no creepy Ben lurking behind the corner, Syed and Christian continue their dream of becoming parents; adopt a little girl named Leena and try to cope with the new situation. And yes, they're married :) Takes place in spring 2012. _

_I do not own Chryed, only lovely Leena._

Just a normal day. Christian is using the first warm hours of the spring for getting rid of his winter fat, working out on the square and around.

Me, I'm busy with accounting but today it's not as boring as it normally is. Watching my gorgeous hubby from my place at the front window of Booty's, seeing him stretching and flexing and every now and then winking in my direction, I feel like the numbers on the screen multiply all by themselves. In the meantime, I ponder idea after idea what to do once my work here is done.

But then again… why waiting till after work? An early lunch break surely can't hurt…

So I decide to pack my stuff, shut the computer and head off to a bit of love before lunch but when I look out of the window again Christian has stopped showing off for me. He's still where I saw him last, at the other end of Turpin Road, but now he's only half turned to me, talking into his phone, an unreadable expression on his face.

Cripes… clients… but he's not ready… he needs to get fit before getting others fit… so I can watch him work out just that little bit longer…

With a huge sigh I slump back on my chair, silently cursing every current and future client who dares to rip me off time with Christian. And working his clients all day is going to make him all groggy in the evening, so chances to get any tonight are slim for me. Double cripes! That's torture.

A sudden movement which I see out of the corner of my eye makes me looking up from the screen and out of the window again, and I nearly jump from my seat when I see Christian standing outside, a huge grin on his face and waving his phone in my direction.

"Sy… you… are never going to believe… who just called…"

The next moment he's inside Booty's, hugging me incredibly hard, releasing me, almost ramming his phone into my chest and hugging me again, this time while pulling me off my chair and starting to dance me around the salon. I have the fleeting impression of him being happy. Whoever it was on that phone, it certainly wasn't a client.

"Christian… just stop it…" I try while laughing at his childish outburst, and he indeed stops, if only for now starting to excited hobble up and down next to me. "So, come on, spill… you won the lottery…?"

And suddenly, all his excitement stops. Standing still, he takes my hand in his, looks me straight in the eye and says the sentence we have been waiting to hear for months.

"Sy… we have been approved."

"We… what? How d'you mean… do you mean… did the agency call you… and they said we're going to…? Christian…"

Now it's my turn to hug him hard, spinning the both of us round and round till I think my head is falling off. We are going to be Daddies…

"Wow wow wow… Sy" finally Christian says a bit breathless while still smiling the biggest smile ever. "Let me live, will ya? Yeah, Diane said we're going to get a written confirmation as well, and more information, about what's next and stuff. They're now going to look for possible matches and then… Sy… I think we'll be going to be parents by summer…"

I hardly understand the last part of his sentence since Christian is suddenly overwhelmed by his feelings, sending a few tears into my collar while holding on to me for dear life.

We stand like this for a few moments, both trying to get our heads round this sudden radical life change. Sure, we knew it would happen (we dreamt about it, worked hard for it, done everything for it to happen). Still… it's real now… it's really happening… and we're prepared like fuck…

I quickly break our contact and look at my husband in desperation. "Christian! We don't have anything for this kid! No bed, no toys, no food, no clothes, no… no nothing! They will arrive and we will have a baby room full of junk and old vests!"

We cleaned and tidied the house till it was nearly as sterile as some operation room when we knew we would be checked weeks and months ago… but now there's nothing much left of that, and our baby room looks a mess… if someone from the agency comes around again right now, we're fucked…

"Relax, Sy! We still have loads of time." No, we haven't! There's so much to do, apart from buying teddies and diapers and baby food. None of us has organized his break of work, we have to find a suitable paediatrician, we're not even half through this thick and uber-expensive 'How to raise a child' book… and we don't even have a name for our little one! We registered for a little boy or girl from the age of a few months to one year and the agency told us we could change the name the birth mother gave him or her. After a long discussion, weighing up the pros and cons, we decided to give our baby a name we both choose and like. But that's about it. None of us came up with any serious suggestion (I still try to forget about Christiana, Christian II., and Syed junior.).

At all my arguments Christian only rolls his eyes in a mock-dramatic gesture, telling me again that we will have sorted all that by summer; what leaves me aghast. He doesn't seem to care about any of this anymore…

"Christian, what's wrong with you? We'll never be ready in time if we not start right away. I'm not saying we need to turn everything round in about two weeks but at least we can start to prepare the baby's room now we know we have been approved. Nothing wrong with that, is it?"

A huge sigh and a step back from me tells me that maybe there is.

"Course there ain't, Sy. I… can't even tell ya how excited I am about this… all this… me and you… and baby Junior…" – "But…?" A dreadful feeling goes along with this word, and for a short moment I feel like fainting right here and now, especially when all excitement leaves Christian's face and is replaced by some kind of sincerity I seldom saw on it.

Taking a seat on my chair and sighing again, Christian is not far away from getting punched in the face by me. What the heck has got into him?

"You remember when I told you about me almost being a father, don't you?" Yeah, course I do. Stupid Roxy and her stupid boyfriend, messing about with Christian over an innocent child's life.

"I almost had it. What I was looking for my entire life but just couldn't have. I love Rox, and I loved Amy even before she was born. So when Rox asked me to be a daddy to Amy, I was so thrilled… everybody said it's a bad idea… everybody thought we completely lost our minds… I was too happy to listen to any of that. I prepared everything, you know? Bought a bed, a changing table, night lights, rattles, teddies… I even threw away everything that could have been inappropriate for a child to see… and there were a lot of these… you know the rest of the story. It didn't happen, although it was rock solid clear and everything planned and… nothing could go wrong."

Here he stops, taking a deep sigh again and avoiding my gaze. I knew that this whole Roxy-Amy story has really got to him, and I'm convinced that this plays a not unimportant role in his plan to have a family with me at all costs. But honestly: compared to the really stupid plan of raising Amy with his best friend, our dream to adopt _is_ rock-solid. We are approved; the only thing that could happen is that we now have an ultra-long waiting period till we actually can call ourselves daddies. But even this is more than unlikely.

All this I don't tell Christian. He's already too far away to listen to rational explanations, so I just make a few steps in his direction, hug his sitting frame and tell him that I won't let anyone take this child away from us. "This time we're two in this, remember?"

I feel him nodding against my shoulder and snuffling, like he's about to cry again. I was never able to see this big and broad-shouldered man cry like a toddler, so I press him firmly against my chest one last time, take a step back and suggest to call it a day (I'm far from able to do any more accountings today and by the looks of it Christian's work out is finished as well).

"Let's celebrate, Christian. Who knows when I'll have the next chance to have you all to myself… suppose in about eighteen years…?"

This indeed cheers him up, and since Christian being happy means total disgrace, I have difficulties to not end up on the cold and not-so-clean floor of my work place. Instead I manage to drag my husband home in one piece, for some marital fun in our big and cosy bed. After this we have lunch together and then start to turn the flat upside down and inside out till late evening, making plans for redecorating nearly everything in this flat to suit the needs of our little baby boy or girl.

_Next chapter: more redecorating, baby names and family matters._


	2. Chapter 2

_Nobody reviews the crap I write, but anyway, here's chapter 2 for you, my invisible readers. Reviews still highly appreciated._

"Christian, no! What if it's a boy? Yeah, wouldn't probably bother you, bringing your son to bed in a room with pink walls and full of Barbie dolls but… no, Christian. That's _not_ gonna happen."

With a pout Christian puts the third some-shade-of-pink-rosé wallpaper roll back onto the pile before telling me that in this case we'll have to leave the walls blank and bland until we know for sure who's going to sleep in our baby room soon.

"Why, Christian, blue and pink aren't the only colours in the world, ya know?" I object while walking in the direction of some more neutral coloured wallpaper rolls. "What about this one?" I ask, holding up a light yellow one with tiny white lilies on it.

"Oh what, because lilies aren't gay now, are they?"

"Not as pink butterflies, no."

Though I have to admit, after a second thought…

"There's no point, Sy" Christian sighs after putting my choice aside. "We need an interior designer or at least someone who can tell us which colour isn't going to turn our kid into a serial killer after all."

I hope for the sake of our kid that he isn't serious about that.

"Rubbish, Christian. They'll just squeeze all our money out of us and in the end they'll tell us we should take the pink butterflies after all. And our kid ends up in some… state school. That's what you want, Christian?"

"No, for heaven's sake no, Sy! I've already checked up Eton… we'll just have to stop buying any food, clothes or paying the rent till junior's 18th birthday…"

Eton…? Now I know for sure Christian's got insane.

The next moment he grabs my hand and drags me away with him, suddenly talking about high chairs and prams, and I can't help but be extremely happy about his energy and dedication to our child. After everything he told me yesterday I really was worried, not even his 'I'm fine, babe!' later in the evening managed to convince me completely.

Only now, his face as happy as can be while searching his way through all the prams this baby store full of pregnant women and over-excited sales assistants has to offer… only now I see the real Christian again. The one who would tear down the world for his little god-daughter, who gets all jazzed up when Kamil talks to him in his baby-Urdu-English, and who most certainly is going to be the best dad the world has ever seen for our little one.

"Hey Sy, wouldn't that be cool if they'll let us adopt twins?" Christian calls out to me and I now see him looking at some bigger prams with awe.

"You've lost the plot, Christian…"

He really _is_ better if he thinks we could cope with two kids the same time now.

"Come on now, love. Let's choose a pram, we haven't got all day. We didn't even look for a baby bed, and don't you forget our lunch meeting…"

"Like I will… yes, darling, 'course not."

My gaze makes him getting off his high horse and apologizing with a little peck on my cheek. "You know how much I love Zainab." – "Mhm... about zero per cent?" – "Actually a bit more than that… after all, she gave birth to the most stunning man in the world." – "Yeah? Didn't know you were lusting after Tambo." – "Prick! _You're_ the most stunning man any mom could _ever_ produce."

All right… we have to stop now. Just a tad more cheesy talk and we'll end up in one of the women's changing rooms, and not for trying on some maternity blouses.

While we make our way into the furniture department, I start to think about my husband still hating my mother; the only topic for getting my head straight again after his groping attack in broad daylight.

It's a constant up and down with these two. I had so much hope when the both of us were invited to Tambo's mehndi, but of course, things were getting worse after that. Mom and dad falling out, Yusuf poisoning mom's mind, all of them against our plan to adopt and marry.

That indeed was the biggest hurdle for mom and her favourite reason to get nasty with Christian again. No matter that it broke my heart to have to choose sides, again. I'll never forget her disappointed look when I told her that me spending the night on her sofa did not mean me leaving Christian.

She came 'round, eventually. She even started to talk to him when seeing the both of us in the street, instead of just acting like he's invisible.

Still, he wasn't allowed to attend any family gatherings, and when I decided to celebrate my first Christmas ever with him instead of just watching him having a feast, she went back to ignore mode. It didn't help that I explained to her that I in no way intend to turn my back on my faith by eating Christmas pudding and pulling crackers.

Then, of course, the fire happened, Yusuf perished and we all moved closer together, trying to cope with half the family being in hospital. There was no time for anyone being cross at Christian, and we all, not only me, were more than grateful for him being there for the family that always treated him like dirt.

But this peaceful mood lasted only until me and Christian started planning our wedding (after everyone was sorted out and recovered) and I decided that I want my mother to be there when I get married to the love of my life.

As expected, she was more than happy to tell me to stuff this idea right away. Nothing helped, no pleading, no threatening, no stupid Christian cornering her and telling her that she'll lose her first born son if she continues to make his life miserably.

In the end it was neither me nor Christian who convinced her. She just noticed that Tam and Afia were attending and that even dad managed to overcome his homophobia, at least for one day to watch his son getting married.

In the middle of the preparations she then suddenly turned up at our doorstep, announcing that she won't let me marry without her making sure that me and Christian don't mess everything up.

"You'll need a female hand, you two!"

I managed to keep Christian from telling mom that he has more female hands to himself than her whole book club, and in the end she cried her eyes out at our wedding, although Christian said probably more because all her preparations paid off in the end rather than because of me and him finally being husband and husband.

Since then she's more civilized around Christian again, and when we told her we've been approved she immediately invited us to meet her, because she needs to make sure we're prepared for that little one.

Christian has his doubts about her intentions since she never actually told us she's happy about us adopting but I know mom. Actions always speak louder than words with her, especially when it comes to accepting the life choices I make.

So after we finished our baby shopping trip (in the end our order consists of an old-fashioned baby bed, a pram Christian insisted on buying although it's wide enough for triplets, a changing table, a high chair, baby towels, baby bedding, and a million other baby odds and ends), we arrive at mom's.

"So, did you choose a name already? You know, I already have so many ideas… what about Anisa or Hayaam for a girl or Niaz or Aadil for a boy… oh, papou, I always loved Aadil…"

"Mom, mom… this is not going to be your baby, is it?"

"Yes, of course, papou, I just thought…"

"Zainab, we'll let you know when we've decided on names, all right?"

Christian's well-meant comment cuts through the air of mom's kitchen where we just have taken a seat at the kitchen table, waiting for her to join us for lunch. By the stunned look on her face, she's about to throw all good intentions she had with my husband over board but then her features soften.

"Of course, of course" she says in a surprisingly calm tone in Christian's direction (but without looking at him from her place at the counter, that would be too much to ask), "I'm just giving you a few suggestions. Don't think Syed knows too much about Muslim names, and you'll surely want to have one with a nice meaning."

Finally done slicing chapattis into bite-size pieces, mom now takes a seat at the other side of the table, urging us to tuck in before the paneer gets cold. It smells delicious, just like it always had at home, and I hungry start to fill my plate when my gaze falls on Christian.

He looks at mom with an unreadable expression on his face, the next moment his eyes meet mine and I know something's not right here, not right at all.

"You want to give the baby a Muslim name, Sy?"

"I… what…"

A few moments I'm confused about this question. I'm Muslim, have been my whole life and will always be. So my kid having a Muslim name would only be natural. Only it's not going to be _my_ kid. It's _Christian's_ and mine, and he possibly wouldn't like to call his daughter Faiza or his son Umar…

"Of course he will, Christian! Why wouldn't…"Mom stops herself while Christian continues to stare at me, telling me with his eyes that we have a problem here… and it's bigger than choosing names…

"You… you _are_ giving this baby a proper Muslim name, aren't you, Syed?" mom asks me now, in her best you-better-are-going-to-voice, what makes Christian turn his head to her again.

"We'll have a chat about that, Zainab… later, yeah?" he says, the last part in my direction and I see his hand on the table twitching towards mine but the last moment he changes the direction, takes the spoon up and starts tucking in while avoiding to look at me or mom. Unaware of there being any deeper problem, mom slowly nods and starts eating, too, while I lost my appetite. I'm too much in fear how Christian's chat with me later will change everything we worked so hard for…

_Next chapter: decisions, decisions…_


	3. Chapter 3

_Chapter 3_

"You've got any appointments later?"

"Yeah… around three…"

"'kay…"

He fully well knows I have. Told him this morning. So why does he have to ask? To evaluate the time we have left for fighting our heads off?

"Christian?" I say and pat on the place next to me on the sofa, hoping to get him out of the far-away state he's about to slide into, back leaning against the kitchen counter and arms crossed across his broad chest in defence.

"Hm? Oh… okay…"

With a _thud_ he takes place next to me. Still deep in thought while doing so, he doesn't even bother to slide closer to me than absolute necessary, and I feel the desperation creeping into my conscience, slowly but steady.

"You know… Sy…" he suddenly starts after a few moments of awkward silence. "Actually, I… I don't mind if you… well, choose a Muslim name… surely there are some… nicer ones…"

I have to shake my head at this. "No, Christian. You _do_ mind. You know you do."

Like so often, my hubby only tells me what he thinks I want to hear, just for avoiding The Big Fallout. Normally, I like this trait of his 'cause otherwise we would be in constant fight with each other. And I _mean_ constant. But this is different. Sure, he could easily get used to love someone called Tafida or Nuruddin… but he simply shouldn't have to. What's more…

"Besides" I continue while sliding nearer to him (someone has to!), "it's not just about names, Christian. You're not going to raise any child Islamic, whether its name is Pete or Rashid. And I can't blame you. I rather blame myself 'cause I didn't think about that before."

He gapes at me. Opens his mouth. Closes it again. There's not much to say. Apparently he didn't think that far as well.

"When you say raising your child Islamic, Sy… what exactly does that imply… for you?"

"Wha… how d'you mean?"

I'm at a complete loss while my hubby looks at me in fully earnest. He knows what it means for me to be a Muslim, and he knows I'm going to raise my child like I was raised, so what more does he need to know?

"Well, Sy… you once told me being a Muslim is about love and peace and all that. I'd go confirm with telling our child all about that. But we both know the other side of your faith… the side which nearly killed you…"

"Christian!"

We hardly ever talk about that. Not in quiet moments, not in anger. And certainly not as an instrument to make me feel guilty about being a Muslim. I thought we left all that behind us, so long ago…

"I'm only honest, Sy. I won't let you raise our kid to believe to be an outcast should he turn out gay one day."

"As if I'm going to do that, Christian!"

"But that's a huge part of your faith!"

"No, it _ain't_! How can you even think that, Christian? Do you even know me at all? Or what I believe in? Have you ever tried to find out anything about Islam; apart from bursting into my Mosque, where they liked to kill me anyway; even more after your visit? What the hell is wrong with you?"

Not being able to sit next to Christian anymore, I'm on my feet now, glaring at him from above. He's not less agitated, standing up in a swift movement and starting to yell at me.

"Oh yeah, there we are again! T's same old same old with you, innit! I _tried_ to get behind all this, you idiot! You know better than anyone I did! If everything you do to help me is telling me I should get a freakin' _book_… how am I supposed to find out what this all is about then, eh? 'Course I could get a book, I could get a _million_ books! Only they'd hardly help me understand! It's _you_ I need to understand! Your stuff and why all this is so important to you! How can I let you raise our child this way if I don't even know why it's so important to you to observe Ramadan or avoid alcohol and pork?"

Though still angry at him, I realize Christian has a point. Of course I've never told him much about my faith. It was and is still a no-no for me. Thought if he really wants to make an effort to learn about it, a book or some articles on the internet would be enough. They're not. Not if I want to convince him to let me pass on my faith to our child. Seems like it's time to overcome my biggest fear…

"You never told me… I mean not really, Christian… that you'd need me for this…"

"'course I need you, you… numptie!"

"Ouch! No need to…"

"Come 'ere!"

Rubbing my head while giving myself in to Christian's tight hug, I come to a decision, and after a few moments of silent understanding I navigate the both of us back onto the sofa.

"Christian, I…" – "Sy, I'm…"

We start talking the same time, like we sometimes do when a joined thought needs to be expressed, and as usual we slide into a little laughing fit about our own silliness. Only this time our common laugh means more and relieved I take Christian's face in both hands and give him a few tender kisses till laughing treats to turn into passion.

"I'm sorry I'm such an ignorant goof 'bout your faith, Sy" Christian says as soon as I set his lips free, with honest remorse in his voice and still a few tears of laughter in his eyes.

"I know, Christian" I respond, accenting my words by rubbing his chest slightly. "But… it's not just your fault. I've been really stupid about all this… no, let me explain… please" I demand when my hubby starts to protest wildly.

"I guess I just wanted to keep it apart. You and my faith, that is. It's easier if I can be a Muslim in Mosque and just Sy at home. Sounds stupid, yeah… but this way we avoid the risk of realizing that as much as we love each other, it's never going to work."

"But it does! It does, Sy! Hell, we even managed a non-Muslim Muslim wedding…"

"I know, I know" I have to interrupt him, the memory of this arduous journey till we finally went down the aisle still fresh in my mind. "And we lost quite a few nerves doing the planning. But that was only for one day. Just imaging having this stress for the next eighteen years! Not even the strongest pair could survive that."

Leaning his head against the backrest of the sofa, Christian takes a deep sigh, looks at me and says in full earnest: "Well, we've never been the strongest pair, have we?"

Since I'm completely frozen at this horrible comment, he takes the opportunity, smiles and explains while rubbing my shoulder blade encouraging: "But we're going to be a _family_, Sy, and believe me, we _certainly_ are going to be the strongest family this world has ever seen. We'll find a way to raise this kid 'cause we're both great dads. The rest is mere formality. And now come 'ere before I start to talk cheesy."

Bathing in Christian's strong embrace, feeling his heartbeat melting with mine, I simply decide to believe everything my husband just said. At least he now seems to be ready to talk about the possibilities we have to raise our kid – religious, non-religious, or in a crazy mix of both.

_Next chapter: Baby names and baby course._


	4. Chapter 4

_Sorry, I'm an idiot but I changed the POV here. Was halfway through it when I noticed it, hence too late for changing (tbh: I like the chapter too much to now change it completely). If it bothers you too much, the next will be Syed's POV again. Well, that would be __**very**__ confusing, so we'll see :)_

"Oh no! Not Bollywood again, Sy! Please!"

"It's Lollywood, Christian. For the millionth time."

"Doesn't matter, love. Don't wanna read subs the whole evening. How about _Love Actually_, hmm? Or this nice one with all the hunks…"

"I hate _Love Actually_ and we'll only be naked in five minutes if you put the hunky thing in."

"So?"

"You know, if you'd learn Urdu you wouldn't have to read the subs anymore. I could teach you…"

"Yeah sure. I'll get the hunks."

"Christian, no! I wanna see this now. So either you go and get your reading glasses, old boy, or you find another activity. With clothes on!"

Heaven help me! My hubby refuses to get active with me before he even knows that I'm about to jump at him. I really have to be more creative from now on. So in the end I let him watch his Boll… Lollywood thingy (honestly, what's the difference now?) while I try to find a way to give this day a nice clothes-free finish.

"You know love, I could just suck you off right now." Hmpf… not very subtle; and according to Sy's unimpressed TV-fixed expression not very tempting, too. So action instead of words, maybe?

"Oi! Get… off!" – "Ouch! Sy, what the…" – "Told you I wanna watch that! If you can't cope two hours without sucking someone off…" – "'kay, okay… I'm quiet now." – "And keep your hands with you." –

"Mmh… I'll try… I'm only human, after all."

With a last annoyed glance in my direction, Sy turns to the TV again and I have time to inspect the strange DVD case which just made painful contact with my head.

"What does it say on here?" I ask, my finger on the Urdu film title. "Three seconds silence. Must be a new record."

"Come on! You wanted to teach me!"

Sy takes a deep sigh, casts a sideway glance at the case and explains: "That's the title. _Jhoomar_."

"I know the thing in bold is the title! But what does it mean? Please?" I add smoothly when meeting his deadly gaze.

"_It's a dance_…"

"And…?"

"What…?"

"Oh, forget it, love. Watch the film; we'll talk in two hours."

The colourful pictures in the telly are more interesting than me, so I surrender. Putting my head in his lap and closing my eyes, I try to enjoy the fact that they actually started singing a myriad of songs in this strange language.

Did Sy really mean it when he said he'd teach me? After all, it's his mother tongue, and he'll surely want to teach it to our child. No way are they going to have conversations in Urdu one day and me sitting nearby looking beautiful…

"Sy? Would it be very hard to learn Urdu? I mean, like really?"

"What do you mean, _like really_, Christian?"

Finally his attention is back on me. He's watching me from above, the TV forgotten for now, and I try to imagine myself sitting in a classroom, learning how to read and how to write all those strange letters.

"I mean like really, Sy. Like actually learning a foreign language. You think it's possible?"

"'course it's possible, Christian. Every language can be learned. I just can see you attending a course for two or three times and then throwing the towel, telling me it's too hard. If you start this… it would mean the world to me. You don't have to, you know… but it could be the start of something… of you sharing some of my… Muslim world, as you like to call it."

I didn't see it like that, but then again… he's right. It wouldn't be just for our kid but for the two of us as well. So it's me having conversations in Urdu with him some day? Sounds funny.

Finally, Sy turns back to the telly but I'm in the mood to learn so I bombard my love with further questions about the film and the DVD case. He answers them all more or less reluctantly as he's still trying to watch the movie the same time. Only when I arrive at the bottom of the case he gets a bit more agitated.

"That doesn't mean anything, Christian" he explains with a little smile when I ask about the things written into a little table, "these are just the actors. You see? Moammar Rana, playing Shanawaz; Saima plaing Gulaab; and then some minor characters, Aleena, Khan, Imran…"

"Are these characters or actors now?" – "Actors." – "So do they have no last name?" – "Well, they have, but there's no need for it. We all know them in Lollywood."

"Strange… I… I didn't mean it like that, Sy" I hurry to add when he gives me the evil looks. "More like interesting, you know? All those names… I'd have trouble telling the difference as it is, surname or not."

"Only 'cause you're not used to them. If we'd call our kid… what… Shanawaz or Aleena or Saima" Sy says with another glance at the DVD case, "you sure won't find them _strange _anymore…"

So there we are again… baby names. Only this time I decide to swallow my pride and think about Muslim names in earnest. For heaven's sake, there's bound to be one that doesn't sound like a nasty disease or a Pakistani dish.

"So, which ones do you like?"

"Hm?"

"Baby names. Muslim ones."

Now the surprise is on my hubby's side. Turning his attention from the TV to me once again, he puts on a thoughtful face before asking: "Why? So you can tell me why each and every one has to go back to the trash bin where it came from?"

Wow. Have I really been such a jerk about the whole affair to be treated like that? Well… I probably have.

"I… no. No, of course not" I manage to stutter while Sy's features begin to relax a wee tiny bit.

Raising my arm to touch his face slightly, I continue: "It's just… so important to you… more important than choosing an English name would be for me. So, if we'll find a nice Muslim one, and I'm sure there is one, we'll take it. And I'll be happy with it. Deal?"

As an answer, my hubby simply bends his head down to me till our lips meet in a heart melting kiss.

"Yeah… I'd like that. Thank you…"

"S'alright" I answer while I change my position from his lap to next to him, sling my arms around his hips and put my chin onto his shoulder. "Now, tell me which ones you like, babe. I need a bit of inspiration."

"Hmm. Let's see… I've got an uncle called Ammad… - "No family matters, please, Sy…"

"So no auntie Raihan?" – "How about mommy Zainab, hmm?" – "You wanted to hear Muslim names, Christian. So let's be serious about this, yeah?"

"Yeah, 'course. Go on then."

"Okay, but I don't know the meaning of most of them names. They just sound nice. To me at least."

"We can always look them up, babe. But… don't you know what your name means then?"

I never asked myself this. Or him. For me, he's just Sy. Still, it would be interesting to know.

"It comes from the title _Sayyid_, which everyone got who's considered a descendant of Mohammed. You know, our Prophet" he adds when seeing my confused expression. Prophet? And what does he mean, descendant?

"So you wanna tell me that you're related to this Prophet? That's sure something special, innit?"

"You… what?"

According to his surprised tone and expression, I put my foot right in where it hurts the most. Where ever that is.

"Well, you said you're relat-" – "I did no such thing, Christian!" – "'Course! You said-" – "I said my name derives from people being related to the Prophet. It doesn't mean _I_ am. Like your name doesn't mean you're related to the Pope or something. Honestly, Christian…"

Oh.

"Oh, very funny, you know?" I try to stop my husband from now laughing his head off (unsuccessfully, as his face already has the colour of some over exited tomatoes and tears of laughter roll down his cheeks).

"How am I supposed to know if you never told me anything about-" – Oho, don't you dare… blaming this… on me…" he breathes between fits of laughter. "Oh, Clarkey… we're going to tell our grandchildren about this, we so are…"

"Tell me again why I married you, ya sod…"

"'cause you officially wanted to be my source of daily laughter… which you didn't fail so far."

"Prick."

"Ya love me for it."

"Mmm… I'll have to reconsider this."

"Good luck with that."

Just our usual banter, and as usual we end up devouring each other right where we are, telly, baby names and everything else forgotten for the moment.

**xXxXxXx**

"You know that I'll have to watch _Jhoomar_ from the start tomorrow night, don't you? I've no idea where I stopped paying attention."

"You do this. Gives me the chance to surf the web a bit for names. We'll have to bring some organization in this, you know? And when Zainab comes for a surprise visit and sees the lists with hundreds of Muslim names, she'll be my biggest fan for evermore."

"Mmm. That'll be nice. Night, love. Sleep tight."

"You, too. And thanks for the fuck."

"Christian!"

_Well… we didn't want to get too soppy at the end, did we? _

_Next chapter: baby course (really)_


End file.
